13 - Against All Odds

16th Year, 3rd Month, Spring

Obscurity died with her fourth, for it was across an open field of battle that the spider stalked her prey. She was but a single sword, one of the many young conscripts elected by chance from the villages nearby. And yet, she fought with the strength of a hundred, the skill of a thousand, and the ferocity of a million. Unshackled upon the battlefield was not a scrawny child, but an avatar of death, an instrument of fear whose song would remain unforgotten.

Scriptures of the Savage Gods, Verse 17-7

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I brushed my fingers against my lips as I paced down the hall. The sensation of my beloved still lingered. I could feel her phantom presence even without the event’s occurrence. I knew it was impossible, that my experience was more delusional than real. But so too did I know the taste of the touch for which I so desperately yearned.

Frankly, it didn’t even seem all that far in the future. The vision very well could prove itself to be genuine in just a matter of years.

That was why I urged my feet to move. One small step at a time, I closed in on the moment ahead. But while it certainly took center stage, I did not allow the unmade memory to cloud my vision. I set my eyes even further ahead and considered everything that lay beyond it.

It was not until I saw the familiar face before me that I was ripped from my reverie. It belonged to an old acquaintance—an ancient foe I had once struggled to conquer.

“He was once known as the hungering death, the conqueror of the northern lands, and the lord of the thunder. In life, his spells threatened whole cities, whole provinces, whole nations with their cataclysmic might. A single cast could slay millions if he so desired. With murder as his greatest tool, he mercilessly conquered the northwestern lands and united them beneath a single thoraen banner—a nation made of but a single species. He is the mage who nearly swallowed Cadria’s northern front, the mage who served as your uncle’s greatest rival, and the mage who drove your rise to power. He is Severus Orpheus, and he has risen to challenge again to affirm the strength of your will.”

The bee-ogre was exactly as I remembered him. Short, stout, and awfully full of himself. His appearance was halfway between that of a grasshopper and a centaur, featuring a humanoid shape sprouting from an insectoid base. According to the rumours, his mother was one of our own, a former commander captured by the enemy and married off against her will.

There was no determining the truth from a fib the higher ups had told to rile up the soldiers. But in either case, it was hardly relevant.

Even if he had already taken his fourth step toward godhood—the step that I was yet in the midst of completing—he was nothing before my blade. One simple cut and he was silenced. Removed from the world again. But though the world turned white, though I certainly slew him, he never quite vanished from my field of view.

It was an event from just a few years ago. Having only ascended once at the time, I was another nameless grunt in the army on the northern front. My first winter as a career soldier had come and gone; we somehow weathered the insectoid attacks and survived to see the snowy field returned to a brilliant green.

The soldiers that typically occupied the fort were likewise back from the other fronts. And with them had come all of the disdain for yours truly.

In their eyes, I was a stupid potato.

I knew of the rumours. They claimed that I had no share of the inheritance and that my brother had sent me away to die, for I had gone mad in the wake of my family’s demise.

And in the eyes of the public, they were entirely correct.

I wasn’t a part of the vision my brother had for our house, the icy fields were meant to be my grave, and in a way, I was mad. I was mad at Constantius, and even madder at myself for failing to forsee his betrayal.

The supposed elites always sent me away. They often kicked me out of training and tasked me with chores that they had no intention of doing themselves. Reconnaissance was one of the most common tasks that made its way onto my plate. Hence why I had Commander Orpheus in my sights.

I watched him from within a wooded patch roughly ten kilometres east of the fort. He was positioned on top of a nearby hill, napping in a hammock suspended from the tallest tree. The rest of his men—the thousand-odd mercenaries under his command—were camped out in the surrounding area. It was as our latest documents described. They hadn’t shown any signs of abandoning the encampment. If anything, they seemed more likely to hunker down.

“What do you think they’re up to?” Ragnar’s voice came from the branches above. Though his body was an almost fluorescent white, it was surprisingly difficult to spot him in the trees.

Of course, the prince was not subject to the same treatment that landed me my undesired role. He had only tagged along because I’d asked and volunteered my dinner as tribute. I wasn’t exactly happy with the outcome, but scouting wasn’t the sort of work to be done by one’s lonesome. I needed him present so he could run off and file a report in case the mission went south.

Allegra had wanted to tag along as well. I wasn’t really sure why—the cottontail mage was highly immobile and made for a terrible scout—but the colonel had summoned her to his office and stopped the terrible idea in its god-awful tracks.

“Hell if I know,” I said.

“Well, it has to be something,” said the moth. “I mean, just look at them. Half of the bastards have already replaced their tents. You don’t just waste magic like that for no goddamn reason.”

The camp was lined with small stone buildings sized for a person or two apiece. Even without the best sense for magic, I could discern their construction at a glance. They were far too uniform to be made of anything but magic.

“Maybe they’re just sick of living in tents,” I said. “Wouldn’t be too surprised. They’ve been here for two whole weeks.”

“Dunno about that one. I might’ve believed it if they were Cadrian, but there’s no way the thorae are that disorganized.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“You guys are fucking savages.”

“You make it sound like you’re any better.”

“We are.”

“Yeah, right. Tell me that when you stop eating your prisoners ali—” Stopping midsentence, I raised my ears overhead and extended my consciousness into my surroundings. The odd sound I heard was faint at first, but it grew louder with every passing moment. I didn’t manage to identify it immediately, but I was pinching the bridge of my nose within the minute.

“What happened? You hear something?” he asked, as he dropped down from his perch.

“Well, old pal, I think I’ve figured out why the colonel dragged Allegra off.” I said, under my breath. I listened again before pointing in the direction of the sound. The thorae hadn’t noticed just yet, but there was a Cadrian force inbound. Even from afar, I could hear—feel—the tremors that accompanied the march. And as my hearing was only a little above average, it didn’t take long for our enemies to join me in reacting.

The friendly army soon crested a hill and made itself visible. It was roughly three-quarters of the force stationed at the fortress, a full legion and a half of soldiers dressed in full armour. Like many of the other cottontail mages, Allegra was difficult to spot in the crowd—her tiny size let her blend in with the centaurian troops’ legs. Her staff was the only thing that gave her away. Its orb was one of three similarly coloured objects glowing within the crowd.

“Fucking hell.” Ragnar smashed his fist into the tree’s trunk. “The bastards are starting without us!”

“No wonder they said it had to be done today,” I muttered.

Their intentions were clear. They meant to bar me from the battle so I would earn no glory. Any other warrior likely would have gone red in the face upon discovering the ploy, but I didn’t care much for the glory with which everyone else was obsessed. Any time spent on the battlefield was time spent at risk, and frankly, I was fairly worthless. Having ascended just once, I brought no real value to the bargaining table. It was simply better to be an observer. Losing access to my supposed glory only kept me safe from the death my brother hoped I’d find.

The only thing that annoyed me was the intention behind it—the fact that my so-called seniors were actively trying to do harm. But such were the circumstances. There was nothing I could do to curb their arrogance and lack of logic.

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“You can probably join up if you want,” I said.

“In this gear?” The moth tugged at the leather shirt he had over his torso. “Fuck no! I’d get my ass killed in a heartbeat. You know how much I stand out.”

“Yeah, you were a prime target up on that wall last winter.”

“Not funny.” He dismissed my chuckle with a glare. “Allegra seems to know we’re here, at least. She’s looking around for us, but it’s looking like the battle’s gonna start.”

“All the more reason to regroup.” I gave my back a stretch and wandered a few feet closer to the edge of the forest. “Honestly, you could probably make it if you cut through the woods.”

“Yeah, no. That just sounds like an easy way to get myself killed by an ally.” He had a point. Though not exactly thoraen, on account of his short stature, his silhouette was far more insectoid than cottontail-like or centaurian. I could easily imagine an overly tense archer making a fatal mistake. “Might work if we go together though.”

“Nah. I’d rather just watch.”

“Yeah, figured you’d say that.”

The battle started right as his grumbling came to an end. Archers on both sides readied their bows as the footsoldiers, who had quickly formed up lines, kicked off the ground and charged. Battlecries rang throughout the highland as the troops fell out of order; individual soldiers from both sides rushed out of line, accelerating their bodies far beyond the standard pace.

It looked like a chaotic mess or perhaps some sort of insubordination, especially on our side of the battlefield, but the vanguard was not without purpose or instruction. Each warrior to break off did so with a goal in mind.

The most durable among them served to draw fire—to waste the enemy’s arrows and focus as they took the brunt of the first barrage. Unlike most others, they were unarmed. It appeared as would a suicide charge, but it was precisely their lack of weaponry that allowed them to bear it so well. Their fists blurred as they parried the incoming projectiles, knocking them out of the air with practiced ease. If that was not enough to divulge their identity, then their bald heads gave the rest away. They were Vella’s monks, experts in the art of unarmed combat.

They led the charge for a quarter of the path, slowing only so that the shielders running behind them could take the front lines as the enemy mages unleashed their spells. Such was the standard practice; half the vanguard was specialized in eliminating physical projectiles, while the other half served as their magical counterparts.

By all means, we should have moved onto the next phase—clashing with the enemy’s advance party—but there was a minor complication. The enemy warlord had risen from his nap and haphazardly swept his staff across the battlefield. He didn’t spew fire like Allegra. His element of choice was electricity, and his lazy command drove it to descend from the heavens above.

The strikes were imprecise. But there were so many that our troops evaporated regardless. Not a single one of the shielders survived the attack, and half the monks that hid behind them were fried to a crisp as well. The rest were turned to ashen shadows. Black, charred stains upon the late spring field.

I gulped.

The man was a terror on the battlefield. His most recent ascension had come with an elaborate nickname personally bestowed by his patron deity. He was the aspect of lightning, lord of plasma and ionic storms. And I could easily see why he had been given the moniker.

He wasn't done with just evaporating the forward party. His thunderbolts filled my ears with their roaring laughter as they danced toward the main force. The attack fizzled out just meters from the front line. An obvious, calculated provocation—a taunt with no true purpose.

We were already rushing them down. The demonstration of his magical mastery did nothing to change our actions. The mages who grew hesitant were already terrified of his prowess, and the warriors who rushed in had long done away with all semblance of respect. I was certain that he could have wiped out half the army with a single spell, and perhaps the rest with another, but obliteration was hardly his goal.

He was after the same thing as our commanders—an opportunity for his men to grow. The opening strike was the only thing he contributed to the battle. From that point on, lightning only descended from the heavens when one of our soldiers moved to deliver a finishing blow. And even then, his coverage was imperfect. He was unable to save all of the men who came under duress. It was just those fortunate enough to be in his line of sight who were rescued.

Even then, his display was masterful. His attacks were incredibly precise, measured carefully enough to fry an arrow midflight without striking any of his allies.

While the caster’s powers were controlled, the rest of the battlefield was chaos. It only took a few minutes for the conflict to devolve into a messy melee. Our spearmen met their blademasters head-on while all manner of projectiles rained down upon them. The battle-crazed psychopaths almost didn’t seem to care. They danced amidst the storm, their steel flashing brightly beneath the midday sun as blood ran down their tips and guards alike.

Just fifteen minutes later, the valley was coated in blood. It pooled at the warriors’ feet, too thick and bountiful to seep into the already saturated mud. It was hardly my first battle, nor my first time bearing witness to the sheer absurdity of war, but my stomach lurched regardless.

There were just so many corpses.

I was nearly a full kilometer away from the battlefield. And yet, the putrid stench of death invaded my nostrils. It worked its way into my mind as stomachs and intestines were exposed to the air and ripped open.

I remained in a trance on the sidelines, idly watching the brutality until I suddenly caught a hint of black, out of the corner of my eye. I immediately tightened my fingers around my spear, thinking it might have been a stray fighter, but I quickly realised that it wasn’t so close.

The dark shadow was still far away.

A cloud of black mist, looming to the west.

“You okay, Virillius?” asked Ragnar.

“Yeah. I thought I saw something for a second, but it’s just a random bit of smoke.”

“Smoke?” The moth craned his neck in the direction of my finger. “Fucking hell.”

“What?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s coming from the fort.”

“Oh... Shit.”

“Oh shit in-fucking-deed. The bastards routed us the moment we moved out. Think we should run over and tell the colonel?”

“I’m pretty sure he already knows.”

I pointed back at the army, specifically at the backline where high command was kicking up a fuss. I couldn’t tell what he was saying from afar, but the colonel barked orders in a flustered panic. The flagbearers propagated his commands through the army, and soon, it looked like the force was in full tactical retreat.

Until the enemy caster put his spells to work again.

He rained a barrage of lightning down from the heavens. A thousand blades of roaring plasma blocked the friendly army from its burning fortress. The message was clear. We had no choice but to overcome him if we wanted to retreat. But the lord of thunder was four-times ascended. He was on the fifth of the seven stages. Completing one measly trial would make him a lesser deity. I would have readily believed him if he claimed he was already immortal.

We simply couldn’t match him. The most powerful warriors on our side were barely at the fourth stage and the most promising mages, like Allegra, were still stuck at the end of the third.

On the other end, some of the newest recruits hadn’t ascended at all. They were stuck on the first step—true mortals whose combat prowess was everything but exceptional.

“You should run while you still can. The fort’s probably going down,” said Ragnar.

I creased my brows. “By you, you mean we, right?”

“I mean you.” His eyes on the enemy backline, the moth climbed up in a tree and started making his way through the forest.

“Are you insane? Have you not heard of the lord of fucking thunder!?” I grabbed one of his legs and shouted in a whisper.

“Yeah, I know all about him,” he said. “But Allegra’s gonna shit the bed at this rate.” He pointed at the mosh pit. “I pretty much owe her my life, you know, after she saved my ass three times back when they attacked in winter.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. It wasn’t like I didn’t understand where he was coming from. I owed the cottontail the exact same debt.

“This is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had.”

“I know. That’s why I’m going alone.”

“Buzz off. You know they’d put my face up all over your goddamn country if I left you to your stupidity.”

“So what I’m hearing is that you’re in?” He flashed a boyish grin.

“Fuck you. I can’t believe you’re making me do this.” The part I hated most was that my sixth sense wasn’t silent. There was a dull whirr, a tiny chance that the enemy general could really be slain. And Vella had promised that I could defeat a champion.

Releasing Ragnar’s leg, I double-checked my equipment and started through the underbrush. I figured we were walking off to our deaths at the time, but somehow, just one and a half hours later, the lord of thunder would lay lifeless between the tips of our blades.

A chuckle escaped my lips as I returned to the present. It should have been an impossible task. A mage with four ascensions was powerful enough to destroy a city in a single blow. And yet, with Allegra’s help, we had narrowly pulled out ahead.

“To challenge Severus was but an act of madness,” said the goddess. When I raised my eyes towards her, I found her mood improved. She wasn’t happy, but perhaps having witnessed the same battle that had unfolded before my mind, she was at least more willing to talk. “It was a bold move that not even I would have thought to endorse. Your success was miraculous, unpredictable, so absurd that even the gods could not help but turn their heads. And I was no different. Never in my wildest delusions did I anticipate your victory.”

“You were surprised?” I blinked. “I thought you knew I would beat him.”

Vella shook her head. “I did not even entertain the thought for a moment.”

“You told me, when I first pledged to you, that I would be able to defeat Thorae’s champions.”

“It was not for another year, by my calculations, that such an event was to unfold.”

“Oh.”

There was a moment of silence, an awkward pause where we each fought the urge to scratch the back of our heads.

“Let us pin the blame on Ragnar,” she said, eventually.

I silently nodded as I continued towards her.

Ragnar had always been suicidal, but it was precisely his lack of fear that had allowed us to reach the heights we had.